


be my, be my baby

by teasapphic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Original Character(s), Post-Time Skip, Recreational Drug Use, argentine oikawa is also very close to my heart, iwa in california is something that can be so personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasapphic/pseuds/teasapphic
Summary: Too quickly for him to grasp at any form of sobriety, his fingers start typing. He sends what surely marks the end of a two-decade-long friendship.Iwaizumi[02:40] i miss you babyyyyyyyy u should come here right now[02:40] i want to kiss you so bad
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 125





	be my, be my baby

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by how i almost texted my gf something similar the other day before i realised that she lives in a different country to me right now :( and then the next day my brain remembered it and was like omg… iwaoi...

The room feels hazy in front of Iwaizumi’s eyes, smoke settling on his tongue and curling languidly through the air as he exhales. An exhausting week of exams finally putting an end to the semester, his friends had collectively decided that doing nothing but smoking up and playing video games was the plan for that evening. A slightly sour note of sweat permeates the air of the basement they're in, but the lightness of Iwaizumi's brain doesn't bother to register it.

‘Yo, fuck Anderson. What the fuck did he mean by _‘you can’t call the nucleus of the cell the ‘g-spot’, Eli’_ ? That’s basically what it is.’

Iwaizumi isn’t sure, but he thinks that Eli said almost the exact same sentence either two minutes or two hours ago. From somewhere next to him, he hears Alex grumble in agreement, and he nods along to pretend like he hadn’t just spent an indefinite amount of time thinking about how a stain on the carpet looked vaguely like the silhouette of his childhood dog, Taichi.

California had been good to Iwaizumi. Good _for_ Iwaizumi. His first day in the dorm, his roommate Sahil had looked him up and down, said _‘Nice, man. What’s your bench?’_ and then asked if he wanted to hit up a rave with some guys down the block later that evening. Iwaizumi had thought _fuck it_ , and had gone wearing some kind of shirtless muscle tee donated immediately by said guys when they saw the size of his biceps. Surprisingly, he’d loved it. It had felt inevitable from then on that he had somehow ended up friends with a group of guys who had taught him how to surf and knew the words to every Drake song there was. The beaches, the food, the social life; it suited him, he thought. American culture still overwhelmed him at times, but he was mostly used to it by now.

He knew that thousands of kilometres away, Oikawa had experienced the same type of culture shock in Argentina. He remembers the calls he received in his first week, about what it was like to train with an entire team of professional athletes and socialise with them, despite being the rookie of the team. _(‘They call me Toto, Iwa-chan! Isn’t that so cute? Hernandez gave the nickname to me when they took me out for mojitos and dancing as an initiation!’)_. Just a few weeks ago he had received pictures of Oikawa with Hinata Shouyou, of all people, at Rio Carnival while on vacation in Brazil, cheeks pressed together as they grinned from ear to ear. He was glad that Oikawa was having fun. He wished he could have been there in Hinata’s place.

Thinking about Oikawa made Iwaizumi nostalgic. The first few weeks in California had made him especially homesick for his company, and he had often found himself wishing he could travel back in time to experience early mornings spent in the Oikawa family kitchen again, eating breakfast companionably with his parents while he waited for Oikawa to finish styling his hair before school. He even missed everything that he had ever claimed to hate; Oikawa distracting him with Instagram videos as they studied; his insistence on travelling to the restaurant furthest away from school for food; his gentle snoring in the middle of the night when they shared a room.

Their relationship had always felt like both the strongest and most fragile thing in Iwaizumi's life. The stability of their friendship had almost ironically caused him to hide what had started with a _what the fuck is this, oh fuck_ crush aged 15, later turning into what was no less than full out, head-over-heels _love_ by the age of 21, too aware of the possibility that it could fracture them beyond repair. Caught up in somewhat bittersweet memories, he doesn’t realise that he has been mumbling out loud in Japanese until he receives a kick against his shin from where it was hanging off the couch.

‘Dude, the fuck?’ he asks, scowling down at Jacob lying on the floor next to him.

‘You’re talking about him again, man. I don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying but I can just tell.’ Jacob states, eyes half-lidded as he peers up at Iwaizumi.

After the events of a night in which Iwaizumi had gotten so drunk that he had accidentally monologued the whole Oikawa-situation to his friends before throwing up in a random bathroom, his friends were well aware of his level of pining. In his defence, Oikawa had sent him a text earlier that evening about a date he’d been on the night before with some _‘spicy sexy spanish man, iwa-chan his HANDS’_ guy, and he’d been drinking to erase the images it had produced in his head. His friends had been pretty supportive of it – if by pretty supportive you counted being not homophobic and giving advice in the form of: _‘Yo, you gotta tell him. Are you gonna be a pussy for the rest of your life, dude? My brother’s gay though, I can see if he has any friends he could set you up with instead? You’re hot, man, I’m sure any of them would be down’_. Iwaizumi had awkwardly rejected the offer as best as he could.

Iwaizumi scowls again. ‘So what if I’m talking about him? He’s my best friend, I’m allowed to miss him.’

In a predictable fashion that reminds him of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, his friends all immediately break out into laughter. He hears various wolf-whistles and a _‘you wish he was more though!’_ coming from what was definitely Eli lying down out of view on the floor behind the couch, and considers chucking one of the couch cushions at him. Fortunately for Eli’s sake, his brain in its currently liquified state decides that it would require too much coordination to do so right now.

‘Why don’t you just text him? Tell him you miss him or whatever.’ Jacob says, ignoring how Iwaizumi instantly begins to groan at that.

‘I’m not going to fucking text him, ok? He’s probably sleeping right now anyways. Can we get back to playing Smash Bros now? I call Bowser for the next round.’ Iwaizumi grumbles, shoving Jacob with his foot again, and changing the subject away to anything else by his more-than-pathetic pining.

Two hours, multiple arguments over what _technically_ counted as cheating, and several joints later, Iwaizumi's brain had gone from feeling lazy and lethargic to full-out fuzzy. He ignores the sounds of his friends still arguing over nothing, and focuses on curling and uncurling his fingers a couple of times, fascinated by the way his knuckles click as he crunches them inwards. Abandoned on the table after a futile attempt to google whether it would be legal for Sahil to sue Alex for pushing him off the Smash Bros map seven times in a row without any evidence other than stoned witnesses, his phone screen flashes and lights up.

‘baby’ the screen reads, and Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to snatch it up:

> **baby**  
>  [02:35] iwa-chan buenos días !!!  
>  [02:35] im sure u are asleep right now :33  
>  [02:36] i woke up early so im going to go and hit some serves to pass the time !!  
>  [02:37] don’t u worry ur motherly brain though i am wearing my knee brace look i promise  
>  [02:37] (picture attached)  
>  [02:37] call me this evening if ur free? :-)

If he had been sober, Iwaizumi might have realised that someone – probably Jacob – had taken his phone and changed the contact name after he had abandoned it still unlocked earlier. Iwaizumi had definitely not saved Oikawa’s number under that name himself; it had been saved as _Kawa Argentine Number_ since the first day he had been sent an _‘hola iwa-chan :3’_ within hours of Oikawa touching foot on the continent.

Iwaizumi in the moment, however, looks at his phone and doesn’t think that anything is wrong with it. The texts are accompanied by a picture of Oikawa, sitting on his bed with the brace clearly visible and a peace sign thrown up next to his face. He’s smiling, not the picture-perfect grin he had always directed towards girls in high school, but a smaller, sleepier looking expression. Bathed in the gentle orange glow of San Juan as it woke up, Iwaizumi thinks he looked beautiful. He wants him here and he wants to kiss him. He had kissed many people, but right now, he thinks that one kiss from Oikawa could be enough to sustain him for the rest of his life, just so he would forever know what it was like. He’s never even kissed Oikawa, but somehow, he misses doing so. 

Too quickly for him to grasp at any form of sobriety, his fingers start typing. He sends what surely marks the end of a two-decade-long friendship.

> **Iwaizumi**  
>  [02:40] i miss you babyyyyyyyy u should come here right now i want to kiss you so bad  
>  [02:40] i want to kiss you so bad

*

Oikawa steps out of the gym into the bright sunlight of the day. San Juan is vibrant and awake around him, and he shakes his hair out of his face as he pulls his phone from his pocket. Practice didn’t start until that evening because of the heat, and he has plans to spend the day drinking virgin margaritas over brunch with his teammate Javier and his new fiancée.

He goes to open his chat with Javier to confirm where they were going to meet, but a message from Iwaizumi from hours – wait, _hours?_ – ago catches his attention. 

> **iwa-chan <3 **  
>  [07:40] i miss you babyyyyyyyy u should come here right now  
>  [07:40] i want to kiss you so bad

Oikawa has spent too long thinking about kissing Iwaizumi for his knee-jerk reaction not to be a wave of happiness. _(He wants to kiss me? Oh my god, he wants to kiss me!!!)_ His second reaction, arriving approximately 0.3 seconds after the first, however, feels like a shock of cold water to his system. The message was in English for a start, which wasn’t common between him and Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi had also never called him baby in his life. He certainly had never texted him at 3am California time to say he missed him, and he had never once expressed any interest in kissing him. If anything, the time that Makki and Mattsun had dared them to make out when they were 17 had caused Iwaizumi to turn bright red with anger and storm off to the bathroom, only returning 5 minutes later looking still flushed and not quite meeting Oikawa’s eyes.

____

He could safely conclude, therefore, that Iwaizumi had meant that text for someone else. Of course it wasn’t for him. Iwaizumi is not his boyfriend, has no interest in him other than platonic, and doesn’t see him as anything more than a friend who now lived countries away from him.

 _Countries that were closer than Japan though_ , his brain adds, not helping his situation at all.

Oikawa didn’t know how to even reply to the text. For years he had suppressed what had turned from a 14-year-old _'why did my heart start pounding when he held my hand to help me up’_ feeling to a 21-year-old _‘not being able to see him every day makes me ache’_ emotion. He would never tell Iwaizumi, of course; he knew it wouldn’t be reciprocated and he didn’t want to ever chance ruining anything. At times he had considered confessing anyways, casting aside his pride and risking a decades-long friendship founded by force and coincidence between their families as babies. There had been nights spent sleeping in the same room, futons separated only by inches, where he had considered whispering the words into the silence of the night. Worst case scenario was the off-chance that Iwaizumi was awake, heard and hated him, best case scenario was that he was awake, heard and kissed him immediately and senselessly until morning. He had never managed to spit out even a single word before the darkness gripped and paralysed him with fear of rejection.

Iwaizumi’s message was clearly meant for some pretty American girl. A pretty American girl with stupid blonde hair and stupid blue eyes and stupidly long, tanned legs. A girl who was most definitely not Oikawa.

Realising that he had been standing in the middle of the street in a state of somewhat-shock for the last 30 seconds at least, he moves out of the way of any on-coming cars before he gets knocked down. He might be spiralling rapidly into a minor fit of jealousy and heartbreak over an ill-advised crush, but he doesn’t have a death wish.

A text from Javier arrives confirming where to meet as Oikawa is still blinking at Iwaizumi’s message, and he decides to lock and pocket his phone immediately so that he doesn’t stare at it for any longer. Stupid Iwaizumi, anyways. Hopefully, he's embarrassed when he wakes up about what he said – and is unsatisfied about not getting laid by whatever sorority girl he had clearly tried to invite over.

It didn’t take much to notice that Iwaizumi was attractive. As much as Oikawa in high school had teased him constantly about his brutish looks – no, Makki, he had _not_ been overcompensating for any attraction to him – he and everyone else with eyes and common sense could easily recognise that Iwaizumi was nowhere near as unattractive as Oikawa had made him out to be. He knew that logically Iwaizumi hadn’t been a paragon of virtue in California, and likely had been with countless people in various ways. Oikawa himself hadn’t exactly sat around and pined like a maiden waiting on her husband’s return from war either. Argentina had a lot to offer, and Oikawa wasn’t going to waste opportunities. Hinata Shouyou, of all people, had been the last to remind him of how much fun a no-strings-attached hook-up could be.

The difference was that Oikawa had never had to directly confront the reality of Iwaizumi being with other people before. It was almost an unspoken taboo in their friendship: hook-ups weren’t to be spoken about. Oikawa had once texted Iwaizumi about a casual date he had gone on with a cousin of his neighbour – _fuck, maybe he should see if he’s free to get over this?_ – and received messages in response that were so unenthusiastic that he had changed the subject immediately before it became awkward.

The best solution is clearly to just ignore the message. He could easily text back a _‘haha iwa-chan! sounds like u were trying to have a fun night ;)’ _but the thought of doing so makes him feel slightly sick. Iwaizumi would wake up in a few hours’ time, god knows how many if he was up until at least 3am, and would text him back to apologise about it being for the wrong person, and they would move on. Platonic, best friends as usual. Other than the minor shattering of Oikawa’s heart and the nausea in the pit of his stomach, it’s – fine.=__

*

Iwaizumi woke to sounds of his friends groaning and lifted his head groggily to survey the scene. Blinking blearily at his friends sprawled over the room, Iwaizumi sat up to reach for the water bottle he could see on the table, cursing at the stiffness in his neck from sleeping awkwardly on a couch. The last thing he remembered clearly was Eli and Sahil performing some kind of karaoke version of Eminem’s _The Real Slim Shady_ after Smash Bros was deemed too violent, but his memories after that felt like a hazy mess.

Sipping at the water to clear the stale dryness of his mouth, he stretches to pick up his phone and unlocks it, expecting to see the usual _‘buenos días iwa-chan!’_ message from Oikawa but – nothing?

It was unusual for Oikawa not to text him every morning. While they often didn’t have time for regular calls every day, both of them made the effort to text good morning and goodnight despite the time difference. Iwaizumi could count on one hand the number of times Oikawa hadn’t texted him good morning before he left to practice – once when he had gotten so drunk the night before that he’d slept in until morning time in _California_ , and another after he’d left his phone in the locker room the night before and couldn’t yet speak enough Spanish to ask the janitor to unlock it before evening practice.

He opens his messages anyways to see when the last time they’d spoken was and - _fuck._

_Fuck._

Iwaizumi instantly wishes for a black hole to swallow him up. Firstly, _‘baby’_? Iwaizumi couldn’t guarantee it, but he was almost 100% sure that it wasn’t him who had changed that contact name. He had a couple of guesses on whom it could be, however, and planned to interrogate the main suspects as soon as they were done grumbling about it being too bright and early.

For now, his biggest problem was that fucking message. The _‘babyyyyyyyy’_ was bad enough, but admitting blatantly that he wanted to kiss Oikawa was damning. He could’ve probably explained away the _‘i miss you’_ with only minor embarrassment over sappiness, but the rest didn’t have much of an excuse. What was worse, was that Oikawa had read and ignored it

[Read at 6:51] his phone displays. It feels like it’s mocking him.

He had always known that confessing his feelings to Oikawa would be risky. Fuck, he’d considered doing so enough times to know that it wouldn’t have the outcome it wanted to. There had been times – lying on the roof stargazing, sitting on the beach at sunrise on a joint family holiday, pressing their foreheads together after their last match – that he had considered just leaning in, bringing himself within inches of rejection just to see what would happen. He had never had the confidence to cross the last few breadths of space, accepting instead that the warmth from Oikawa’s skin, the glimpse of his side profile, and the rapid beating of his pulse was all he would ever get. He had long accepted by now that being Oikawa’s friend was enough, but fuck did it hurt to see what was basically a confession being ignored.

It was fine. He would wait for Oikawa to text him later, undoubtedly making a joke about how _‘I knew u could never resist my charms forever iwa-chan haha!!’_ , and move on. Maybe he would finally move on.

*

Iwaizumi was never going to move on from this. 18 hours since he had sent that message; 15 hours since Oikawa had ignored it; 11 hours since he had woken up and realised Oikawa was ignoring him. 

Was Oikawa mad about Iwaizumi’s feelings? Disgusted that his best friend had told him he wanted to kiss him? Iwaizumi was sure that it wouldn’t be hard for Oikawa to now work out that Iwaizumi had been border-line in love with him for years, especially with how perceptive Oikawa could be at reading people. With the extra information he now knew, Oikawa could easily apply it to almost any of Iwaizumi’s actions over the last few years and work it out. What was worse was that Oikawa had never expressed any interest in being in love with or even just kissing Iwaizumi ever – if the comments he had made in high school about his looks were anything to go by, he _definitely_ wouldn’t be into the idea.

________ _ _ _ _

____

________ _ _ _ _

Fuck, Iwaizumi had ruined everything. 20 years of friendship, gone. Well, he was actually willing to place some of the blame on Jacob, but still. He tried to rationalise with himself though – maybe Oikawa wasn’t actually mad. Maybe he was just trying to work out how to respond, how to not hurt Iwaizumi’s feelings. Iwaizumi would go to dinner now, hang out with his friends, and give it until tomorrow. His break was starting, and Iwaizumi wanted to celebrate with his friends. Maybe everything would be back to normal tomorrow, and they would brush past this incident with minimal awkwardness as if this day had never existed. He hoped that was the case anyways.

By 10am the next day, Iwaizumi is _beyond_ pissed off. He had thought the internal trauma he had gone through as a teenager when he realised that he wanted to hold Oikawa’s hand (and then again, a few weeks later when a dream forced him to realise that he wanted to touch Oikawa in a strictly non-platonic way) had been bad, but that was nothing in retrospect to this.

Oikawa still hadn’t texted back – in fact, Oikawa also hadn’t texted back to Iwaizumi’s last six messages.

> **Iwaizumi**  
>  [09:04] hey  
>  [09:04] sorry about yesterday haha, how was serving practice?  
>  [09:05] u better not have overworked ur knee  
>  [15:27] you ok?  
>  [18:51] im sorry if I made u uncomfortable before  
>  [23:19] oikawa?

Fuck this. Iwaizumi was meant to be enjoying his vacation after a semester of stress, but instead, he was moping over being ignored like he was some sort of 15-year-old who had been rejected behind the gym after school. He had even been pathetic enough to text Hanamaki and Matsukawa, using the group chat they’d had back in school without Oikawa for the first time in months, to ask if they’d heard from him. Neither had and so with little more than a _‘Nah sorry man, everything ok?’_ , he had closed the chat and resolved himself to continue sulking.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Iwaizumi knows that he probably made Oikawa uncomfortable, and he knows Oikawa is probably spending the day trying to work out how to properly reject his best friend of 20 years but still, _fuck this_. If they’d been back home in Miyagi, he would have stormed into Oikawa’s house using the key he’d been given over a decade ago, and forced him to confront this so they could move on and go back to being friends.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Said key had been given to Iwaizumi at the tender age of 11 so that the two of them could let themselves into his house after school while both their parents worked. Oikawa had lost his own copy within a week, so the responsibility had gone to Iwaizumi. He had worn it around his neck on a piece of string that first year, later migrating it to a more permanent chain. When they turned 14, Oikawa had whined for weeks about not having the key to the Iwaizumi household, and so Iwaizumi had taken his own key and gone to make a copy of it at the hardware store a few streets over, not even bothering to ask his parents for permission. He had hung it on a matching chain and thrown it at Oikawa one day after practice, scowling at his overdramatic reaction and refusing to say anything more about it. They had continued to wear the chains on and off for years, no longer every day as in middle school, but more reserved for those that felt extra sentimental. Both of them had worn them the day of their graduation, and the day after Argentina had been confirmed. Gold for Oikawa, and silver for Iwaizumi.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Iwaizumi glances over at his desk, where the key hangs from a hook. An idea begins to form in his head.

*

Oikawa sniffs as he watches another endless episode of the telenovela that Javier’s girlfriend had recommended to him. He had ended up going to brunch with them and attempting to hold it together, before breaking down into angry, silent tears as he watched the couple interact so lovingly and playfully. Lucia, with a terrifying amount of grace, had taken this in her stride and ordered Javier away instantly to fetch more drinks so that he could spit out what had happened without the humiliation of it being in front of a teammate. She had given him a hug, called him _cariño_ and told him she would get his number from Javier to text him recommendations for trashy 2000s TV shows he could watch.

He itches to check his phone, but he doesn’t want to see any messages from Iwaizumi – or worse, none at all. He had turned it off the second he had texted Lucia back with a sincere gracias, and had been sitting wrapped up in an old Seijoh hoodie watching _Resisteré_ ever since. Tears encrusted on his cheeks and face feeling permanently screwed up into a frown, Oikawa had spent the last 48 hours barely moving from the spot on his couch. He had gone to practice the first evening, only to be sent home by his coach with a gentle _‘I don’t know what’s wrong, but go home and take care of yourself, Toto. We’ll see you on Monday’_. The care was enough to make him almost burst into tears again, and he had run out of practice without even stopping to change.

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

God, he felt pathetic. Crying because his best friend was hooking up with someone? Or because he was potentially happy with a new mystery girlfriend? He hadn’t even been broken up with, but somehow that made it worse.

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Even though he’d never had the courage to confess, he had secretly always held out hope that he and Iwaizumi would end up together somehow, somewhere. Whether that was Japan, Argentina, California or elsewhere, he didn't know. Any apartment in any country would never feel truly like home to him without Iwaizumi’s presence. His future had always felt tied to both volleyball and Iwaizumi in a sense; two dreams overlapping so intricately that they felt intrinsically linked together by this point in his life. Iwaizumi had been Oikawa’s ace; Oikawa’s person. People at school had sometimes made jokes about them being co-dependent, but both of them had always been quick to deny it. That wasn’t the right word for their relationship. Co-dependent would imply that they couldn’t live without each other. Oikawa knew that it was more that they could if they had to, but they would never want to. He could survive without ever seeing Iwaizumi again, but he wouldn’t ever want to.

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The idea that Iwaizumi had someone else, someone that he could miss at 3am and call ‘baby’, was what was really making him feel like this. He had known it would always happen one day, but he had never wanted to confront that reality. Neither of them had ever dated for more than a few weeks back in high school, and it had always created a weird, unspoken kind of tension between them whenever one of them was with someone. Oikawa had stopped midway through their third year, realising that while flirting with people was mostly harmless, he didn’t want to lead someone with serious feelings on while he knew he wouldn’t truly be holding them nearest to his heart. As if anyone else had ever stood a real chance against Iwaizumi, anyways. Oikawa sometimes felt like half his heart was dedicated solely to him, the rest fragmented between everyone else.

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Reaching for the near-empty box of tissues on the table, he blows his nose for the 14th time in the last hour. He focuses his attention back on the TV, watching a love scene unfold between the two main characters amidst what is _absolutely_ not an appropriate time for them to be doing this. He only cries harder at that – why the hell did Lucia think watching two people overcoming obstacles and adversity in the face of love would make him feel better?

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He’s so caught up crying over the show, that he barely hears a knock at the door. He turns the volume on the TV down, wipes his face on the edge of his right sleeve, and shuffles towards the door to look through the peep-hole. The person in front of the door has their back turned to it, shuffling slightly from foot to foot, but Oikawa would know the shape of those shoulders anywhere. He opens the door without thinking.

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

‘Iwa-chan?’

*

The door in front of him opens, and Iwaizumi has to stifle a smile. God, Oikawa looks terrible.

His face is red and screwed up into a small frown, and his eyes look swollen from crying even though they aren't meeting Iwaizumi's own. He’s wearing an oversized Seijoh hoodie that clearly needs a wash – Iwaizumi is almost confident that it’s his, supposedly lost in his move to California – and sweatpants that Iwaizumi knows his mom bought him when he hit a major growth spurt aged 16. There’s a familiar gold chain peeping out of the neck of the hoodie, one Iwaizumi knows matches the one resting over his own heart. He looks awful, and Iwaizumi loves him. He has to resist smiling because Oikawa is mad at him and now is _not_ the time to smile, but he looks awful and Iwaizumi loves him despite that, despite whatever mess is between them right now.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Oikawa has a confused look on his face as he automatically moves aside to let Iwaizumi into the apartment. He only brought a backpack, not wanting to pay the extra $47 to check a suitcase on a last-minute flight, and so as he steps past Oikawa into the apartment for the first time, he has nothing to do with his hands, holding them awkwardly by his side.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Oikawa shuts the door behind him and turns, the confused look on his face suddenly wiped blank with a colder, faker mask. Iwaizumi hates it. He has seen Oikawa make this face many times, on the court especially, but never towards him. ‘Why are you here, Iwaizumi?’

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Iwaizumi_. Oikawa only ever calls him that when he’s mad. The last time he had heard that directed at him (instead of the _‘Iwa-chan!’_ that he would always claim he hated but never really had), they had been 17 and fighting over Iwaizumi not pursuing a future in the pro-leagues.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

‘Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend, or whatever?’ Oikawa continues, and Iwaizumi freezes.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

‘Girlfriend? What girlfriend?’ He doesn’t dare to get his hopes up yet. He had come here to be mad at Oikawa for ignoring him and confront him about letting Iwaizumi’s feelings ruin their friendship more than they already had. As he feels the anger drain from him, he realises that maybe that isn’t necessary. He had thought Oikawa was upset about having to reject him, but maybe – _just maybe_ – that isn’t the case.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Oikawa huffs, the cold mask still in place. Its effect is put off by the black circles under his eyes and the exhaustion in his tone, but it’s a commendable effort still. ‘The one you texted? Come on, Iwaizumi, I’m not stupid. You texted me instead of her and you called her _baby_ and asked her to come over.’

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He pronounces _baby_ in English like a curse, like he has to force it out of his mouth. Its bitterness crawls into the space between them and sets something alight in Iwaizumi’s chest. Heart pounding underneath his silver key, he takes a step to bring them closer together. 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

‘Fuck, Oikawa. You’re so stupid. _We’re_ so stupid.’ He says, a small smile finally breaking out onto his face. He didn’t bother to book a return flight home yet, so if at worst he is reading the situation wrong, he can just escape straight back to America and spend a few evenings in a basement somewhere letting his friends comfort him with cheap beer.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

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Oikawa looks affronted, though, and Iwaizumi rushes to clarify. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m not seeing anyone either.’

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He steps even closer, but Oikawa still looks confused. Iwaizumi wishes he could telepathically communicate with him right now. He sighs and takes the plunge. ‘I wasn’t trying to text a girl that night. I always meant to text you.’

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Oikawa’s eyes widen, and the coldness melts from his face. ‘You – what?’ he stutters, and Iwaizumi can’t help his smile from growing.

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‘It was for you,’ he says, finally breathing life into a confession 7 years overdue. ‘I missed you and I was thinking about you and I wanted you there.’

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If this was a normal situation and not a love-confession poised on the cusp of shattering and remoulding everything their relationship had ever been made of, Oikawa would laugh off a moment this sincere with an _‘Awwww, Iwa-chan’s so sweet! You missed me, huh?’_. Right now, it seems like he can’t move past the silent hope that has broken out onto his face, lips parted slightly in awe as he stands frozen in place. He’s not quite daring to make eye contact yet, but Iwaizumi can tell that there’s no joke nor teasing showing in them. A lifetime of seeing Oikawa's face almost every day has left him able to read every emotion it carries, and right now – well, it doesn’t feel like he’s about to be rejected.

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‘Oikawa,’ he starts. _‘Tooru,’_ he corrects, and Oikawa collides with him in an instant before he can finish the sentence, throwing his arms around his shoulders and burying his face in his neck.

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The feel of Oikawa is his arms is both familiar and new all at once, and Iwaizumi feels like he’s going to burst. His hands fly into Oikawa’s hair instantly, desperately, tangling in it and cradling his neck to clutch him closer despite the height difference between them. He smells of the shampoo he makes his mother ship him from Japan, the stupidly expensive one that Iwaizumi once spilt a bottle of and had to part with half a day’s worth of wages from his part-time job three summers ago to replace. Iwaizumi is helpless but to breathe in and revel in the comfort it brings him. He presses his lips softly against the fabric of Oikawa’s shoulder, not daring to press a kiss just yet, and peers down the length of Oikawa’s spine to confirm the _4_ nestled under his own name.

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‘I thought – I thought you had a girlfriend, Iwa-chan. I’m sorry I ignored you I just – I just didn’t know what to say to you. I didn’t want to think about you with someone else, but you’re not _mine_ and I didn’t want to be mad at you, but you _are_ mine and I’m _yours_ or at least I want to be, and I’ve loved you for so long, and I just – ’ Oikawa babbles, and Iwaizumi lets the hope fill his chest and take hold of him wholeheartedly.

*

Later, Iwaizumi will confess that he only texted Oikawa because he was high, and Oikawa will shriek and wail about how _‘I can’t believe I’m going to have to hide that fact from our parents in our wedding vows!'_. Iwaizumi’s heart will stutter at the mention of their future together, and they’ll tell Makki and Mattsun the truth and never hear the end of it. He’ll text Jacob a begrudging _‘thanks but fuck you anyways’_ , and receive a passionate _‘YOOOOOOO IWA THAT'S MY GUY’_ in response. Oikawa will take him to his evening practice, and he’ll sit and watch him interact with a team of professionals like it’s nothing, hair glowing in the orange rays that peep through the breeze of a San Juan summer evening. He’ll tell Oikawa that he loves him and spend the next few nights seeking out every patch of skin that his lips can find.

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One day, later but not now, they’ll have to figure out what the shape of their future together will be. Iwaizumi knows without any doubt that they’ll make it work – somehow, somewhere.

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In the moment, however, Iwaizumi pulls back slightly from Oikawa’s possessive grip and looks him in the eyes for the first time since arriving. They’re even more swollen than they were ten minutes ago, gleaming with tears that have formed a damp patch on the expanse of Iwaizumi’s left shoulder. He lets Oikawa whisper _‘Hajime’_ into the breadth of space between them on an exhale, and leans in to finally close the distance between them. Tooru leans in to meet him back.

_fin._

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End file.
